Harry Potter and the Next Great Adventure
by Hagunemnon
Summary: Five years after the Battle of Hogwarts, a 23 year-old Harry Potter finds himself a rising star in the Auror office. Dark forces lurk in the corners of the magical world, waiting to strike back at the world that tried to cast them out.
1. Five Years Later

**Harry Potter and the Next Great Adventure**

Chapter One: Five Years Later

It'd been just over five years since the final battle, the Battle of Hogwarts, where the second Dark Lord was defeated and the magical world could once again breathe easy. However, the darkness never rests, a fact one Harry James Potter knew very well. His defeat of Voldemort guaranteed him a position at the Auror office of the Ministry of Magic, and it was a given that he'd continue doing the only thing he'd ever really known, fighting dark wizards.

Harry Potter, age 22, put his fist to his back and bent backwards. Desk work was a necessary evil, even for the Boy (now a man) Who Lived. A wave of his wand later, he filed away the stack of paper into his desk drawer, stood up, and began walking out of the office, his work day officially over. An uneventful ride on the magical lift later, he found himself walking through the Ministry's atrium. _At least they did away with that pompous bloody monument of Thicknesse's_, he thought as he passed the new Albus Dumbledore Memorial Fountain. The marble statue of the greatest wizard of the past century loomed over atrium, its right arm outstretched and its wand sending a constant stream of water quietly, serenely into the fountain below.

As Harry mulled over the minutiae of his day in his head, he remembered in a flash that today was important, but for what reason? _Oh hell! Its Hermione's birthday today!_ He jogged to an empty fireplace and, grabbing a quick hand of Floo powder, said abruptly, "The Leaky Cauldron!" A flash of green fire and an unhealthy amount of spinning later, Harry stepped out of the fireplace and walked quickly through the inn as Tom the Barman bustled about, seeing to his patrons' dinners.

Walking past Diagon Alley, and taking that narrow turn down that little, dark tunnel, Harry remarked at the rebuilt Knockturn Alley. "They really did a number on this place, after that Dark tosser died, didn't they?" he said quietly to himself. "Not that anyone would notice nowadays, since they cleaned it up and turned it into cheap flats. Cheap flats without Floo access."

After a few minutes' healthy trot, Harry was standing at the door of Hermione's flat. He touched the knob and whispered his name, and the door unlocked, permitting him entry. _Leave it to Hermione to figure out how to password lock her flat_, he thought as he walked in to the relatively nice, one-bedroom abode in which his friend lived.

Hermione looked up; the silent alarm charm on her door had told her who was entering. "Harry!" she half-yelled. "It's so good to see you! You haven't visited in _months!_"

Harry bowed his head slightly and rubbed the back of his head, "I've been having a hell of a time at work. We think we've _finally_ managed to get the last of the serious Death Eaters locked away in Azkaban." _I should know_, he thought. _I personally led the last raid today_.

"I realize you're a living legend and all," she huffed, "but eating away at your free time just isn't called-for! I ought to have a talk with Kings-er, _Minister Shacklebolt_, and tell him how poorly his office is handling their 'rising star.'"

"Never change, Hermione," Harry said as he laughed. Inside, he was warmed by her slightly overbearing attitude where he was concerned. Then, he noticed something, "I see Ron isn't here. Again."

Hermione's face turned into an angry frown as her least favourite subject was brought to the fore, "I can't help it if he's being slow in dealing with the situation."

Ginny had apparently been listening in Hermione's loo, as she took that moment to appear, still idly rubbing her hands together to get them dry. "My brother's being a spectacular prat, like always. He says he's still not over how you two broke up," she snorted. "I swear, he _still_ acts like a ruddy teenager, sometimes."

"And that's why I left!" Hermione insisted. "He refuses to grow up! He's still living off his parents and making nothing of his life! It's as if the thought of a proper job had never even occurred to him!"

"Is someone talking about ickle Ronniekins?" George said, sauntering into the flat with a distinct swagger and carrying a case marked "Ogden's Finest." Trailing just a meter behind him were Luna and Neville.

After that, things became markedly more pleasant. After Hermione opened her presents, Harry had given her a muggle book on physics, George cracked open the case of Firewhiskey and poured everyone a glass. They all raised their glasses for a toast, led by Harry. "To Hermione, the most intelligent witch the world has ever known!"

"To Hermione!" the others echoed before taking a drink from their glasses.

Neville raised his glass next, and said in a bombastic voice, "To good times, and good friends!"

"Hear, hear!" Harry said as he downed another mouthful and savoured the faint burning sensation going down his throat. After a few minutes of laughing conversation and reminiscing, Harry asked a question that'd been burning in his mind since he'd been told that Hermione was having her party at her flat. "Hey, Hermione…why are we doing this here instead of at Hogwarts? Do they not give rooms to their Arithmancy professors?"

Hermione laughed, "Harry, I specifically asked for a day away from school so I wouldn't have to do this on school grounds. Could you _imagine_ if another professor came knocking while we're all sitting here half-drunk? I'd never be able to look McGonagall in the eyes again."

Luna looked up, a healthy rose tint creeping up her pale cheeks, "Plus, the Fump-Gizers in a place like Hogwarts would reproduce like mad in our heads."

Neville nodded sagely at Luna's words, while George's face belied the battle going on between his urge to laugh at Luna's words, his better senses, and a fair portion of hard liquor. Liquor won out, and George burst out laughing like a hyena while broad smiles spread across the room, even managing to reach Luna and break through her normally serene, yet spacey composure.

The party lasted several more hours, between everyone complaining about work (even Luna, in her own odd way) and food. After everything was said and done, it had been a fun experience for all involved, even though Harry could see the slightly sad look in George's eyes as the party ended and everyone was preparing to go home. _I don't think he'll ever stop missing Fred, especially at times like this_, Harry reflected sadly. As he got to the door to bid Hermione a good night and a safe trip back to Hogwarts, she managed to eke out a promise from him to see her more often.

"You know, Hermione," Harry began with a mock sigh that ended in a short laugh. "You're as bad as Mrs. Weasley used to be when you want someone to do something."

His friend blushed slightly at the compliment and bade Harry a good night. He walked out of her building and looked up at the perfect, cloudless sky above him. Reflecting on the war, on everything and everyone he'd lost, and on the many good people still in his life, he pulled out his wand and disapparated, heading to his home in Godric's Hollow.

The sleepy little town had changed little since Harry had first come here during the time he and his friends were hunting for those little bits of Voldemort's soul. Some of the shops had changed places, and a few new homes had sprung up, but Godric's Hollow had never lost its small-town charm. It was one of the reasons Harry chose to live here; it made an excellent contrast against his hectic childhood and dangerous career. As he walked to the front door, he pulled the key out of his pocket, unlocking the door and stepping inside his home.

Even three years after its completion, Harry could still smell the faint whiff of fresh sawdust and paint. A small portion of the Potter fortune to which Harry gained access when he came of age ensured him a small, well-protected house just a few blocks from where his parents had lived. The old Potter house was still there, standing as mute testament to the horrors that organized, militarized hate could create. Wiping away the sad memories of the people he lost in the war, Harry prepared for bed, looking forward to the weekend off he'd managed to negotiate with his head of office.

A hot shower later, Harry climbed into bed and thought over all that happened today. One thing managed to stick out in his mind from the party. _I really need to talk to Ron tomorrow, it's been a while since I've had the chance, and maybe I can finally get him to see reason_, he thought as he felt the calming warmth of his comforter send him off to sleep for the night.

_Author's Notes:_

The story will continue soon, I promise! I've got a few projects going, right now, so my time's a bit divided, at the moment. Don't worry, my stories aren't going away. I should have the next chapter done inside a week, with any luck. I only need maybe two more scenes, four at most.

To answer potential questions:

It isn't very mysterious or horrifying right now, I know. I need to get the foundations laid, first!

Yes, I'm ignoring the epilogue. In a world without bullshit plot justifications, the two big canon pairings (Ron/Hermione and Harry/Ginny) wouldn't have lasted very long. Unlike magnets, opposites don't attract, and you don't get much more opposite than Ron and Hermione. Ginny would likely miss the adventures her older friends went on, and is now trying to do that while Harry, tired of adventure, would want to settle down and do what he does best.

Knockturn Alley was destroyed shortly after the war. Don't worry, I'll have some exposition to explain this, probably in Chapter Three or Four.


	2. Mourning and Sulking

**Harry Potter and the Next Great Adventure**

Chapter Two: Mourning and Sulking

Harry awoke that morning with a purpose-driven energy that was rare in him when it wasn't a day in which he was taking part in a raid. After a quick breakfast of toast and eggs, he headed toward his fireplace and grabbed a handful of Floo powder.

"The Burrow!" he stated as the green flames surrounded him. A few stomach-turning moments of vicious spinning later, Harry stood between the living and dining rooms of The Burrow. _This place has been melancholy since they had to remove Mrs. Weasley's hand from the clock_, Harry reflected sadly. He saw the hands marking the current Weasleys, and all were pointed at "Work," except, of course, for Ron. He heard footsteps descending the long stairwell that separated the various rooms, and Harry turned to face their source as it reached the bottom.

_Ron really hasn't changed very much since then, has he?_ The thought crossed Harry's mind as he looked at Ron, his clothes somewhat lazily draped around his tall, thin frame. Ron eyed Harry with a mix of amazement and suspicion. "I thought you were dad," was all he managed to get out before awkwardly hugging his old friend.

"I was actually here to see you, Ron," Harry started, mindful that his words didn't spark indignation in his friend…the last thing he needed was to get a tear-soaked rant after having not seen the man for nearly a month. Releasing Ron from the hug, he said, "Actually, would you like to go for a walk or something? I think some fresh air might do us both some good."

Ron grunted and replied, "I suppose, just so long as we get back before lunchtime."

As they walked out past the garden, Harry searched for a way to break the ice, and finally found it when he asked, simply, "Ron, how are things?"

Ron stopped walking and looked down, melancholy taking over his features. "I'm okay, I guess," he said in little more than a whisper as his ears pinked up.

"Ron," Harry began in a concerned voice. "I can tell something's bothering you. I want to help, but I can't if you shut me out."

Ron, looking utterly defeated, sat down on the grass with his head in his knees. "It hasn't been the same since mum died. It's too quiet, now that Ginny moved away." Ron said between sobs.

Harry sat on the grass beside his best friend and pulled him close. "We all miss her, Ron…" Harry said, but was interrupted by Ron's wail.

"I never even got to say hello to my little brother or sister!" He wailed. Harry recalled the events surrounding Mrs. Weasley's death three years ago very vividly…they were all there…

The initial news had delighted everyone; despite all odds, Mrs. Weasley had become pregnant yet again. Everything was ready, and everyone was there to welcome the newest Weasley into the world, even Hermione was there despite how bitter Ron still was over their breakup the previous year. But, bliss turned sour as Mrs. Weasley, then twenty five weeks along, began having powerful coughing fits and frequent headaches. Thinking it was just a particularly nasty cold, Mr. Weasley prepared chamomile and rose hip tea for her every day when he came home from work. However, one night, Mrs. Weasley went to sleep with her beloved husband, and didn't wake up the next morning. She never awoke from the coma the mediwizard at St. Mungo's said had killed her and her unborn child as she slept. Her funeral was a small, family affair with only the Weasleys, Harry, Hermione, and the Lovegoods in attendance. There wasn't a single dry eye as they all, one by one, said goodbye to their wife, mother, and friend.

Harry shook his head slowly to whisk away the memories threatening to take him the same place his friend had found himself. He held on to Ron as he cried until he went slightly limp, his emotions drained from him like pus from an infected wound.

Ron turned to Harry, after thanking him, and asked, "Harry, why won't she come back?"

Harry knew he was talking about Hermione. "Ron, I'm your friend, but I'm not going to lie to you. You weren't…weren't right for one another." Harry still missed being with Ginny, even if they were still friends.

Ron swallowed and replied as he rose from the ground, brushing grass from the legs of his pants, "She said…said that she didn't want children…"

"Ron," Harry sighed. "You and I both know how Hermione is, she's not the kind to be a housewife, she isn't like your mum."

Ron said nothing after that, and the two men shared a companionable, if slightly morose, silence as they walked beneath the noonday sun back toward the Burrow. There was a slight chill in the air, as if nature were reminding them that they were about to enter autumn. After they came indoors, Ron and Harry took seats in the sitting room.

Ron looked up at Harry and asked, "How can someone not want a family, though?"

Harry shrugged, "Got me, mate. They just want different things from life than we do. You know what happens when a woman gives birth, it isn't pretty."

Ron moved his head up slowly, a look of confusion on his face, "What do you mean?"

"You've never heard what happens?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Come on, mate, Hogwarts never taught us that, and I know for a fact my mum and dad never told me a thing about it," Ron said impatiently.

Harry shuddered, thinking on how sheltered the Wizarding world is, and elaborated. "She gets…torn, down there. Imagine squeezing something the size of a watermelon through a hole the size of a walnut. That's not counting all the organs the baby displaces and the things it…forces out of the woman."

"Blimey," Ron said disgustedly. "That's enough to put a man off his lunch, that's for sure."

Harry laughed, "You're telling me, mate. I still think it's worth it to have a family, but I know I'm never going to mind my future wife getting shirty with me for a long time after."

They passed the rest of the afternoon reminiscing about their Hogwarts years and having a lunch of corned beef sandwiches and pumpkin juice. As the sun began to set, Harry knew he should probably head home, he didn't want to end up going to bed too late and regretting it tomorrow. He got up from the couch and stretched.

"Heading home?" Ron asked with a hint of sadness in his voice.

"Yeah, I need to finish a report or two," Harry said. "Besides, books don't write themselves."

Ron chuckled at that saying, "You're still working on that thing?"

Harry smiled and nodded. "It feels good to get it all down on paper. Besides, people should know what happened during the war. Maybe, with my help, we won't see another Dark Lord in our lifetimes," he said as he made his way to the fireplace.

"Catch you later, mate!" Ron said, waving.

"And you," Harry said as he grabbed a handful of Floo powder and said, "Number Seven, Church Lane, Godric's Hollow!"

_Author's Notes:_

Ron's probably going to annoy some readers, but his character is based on my interpretation of how he is in the books. Ron matured the slowest of the Golden Trio; he's very much a late bloomer, only _barely_ coming into his own during _Deathly Hallows_. Shock and depression can put a stopper on one's personal development, something I know from personal experience, and a nasty breakup certainly count as both shocking and depressing. Losing a parent, while still dealing with a stressful situation, can even _further_ hamper personal emotional development. Ron's doing the worst thing one can do after losing someone they love, he's growing stagnant. Whether he grows out of it or not…I suppose we'll see, shan't we?

Mrs. Weasley's symptoms might be familiar to some with medical knowledge. This is because Mrs. Weasley suffered from pre-eclampsia during her pregnancy, and was unfortunately misdiagnosed as a cold by Mr. Weasley. Some might find it odd that a 50 (or 51) year-old woman got pregnant, but not only is it a well-documented fact that some post-menopausal women can still get pregnant, but the extended lifetime of wizards could likely lead to an extended period of fertility. With her age and the fact she had seven children already, she was already under extreme risk of pregnancy-related health issues. To put it bluntly, she was just severely unlucky, and the eclamptic coma she entered struck while she (and anyone who could notice) was asleep, and had plenty of time to kill her.


	3. Missing Artifacts

**Preface:** I apologize for not updating this as much as I could have. Life has been kinda throwing me a lot of unpleasant curveballs in the past few moons and I just haven't had as much time, or motivation, as I'd have liked to continue this story. However, this is beginning to change, so with any luck, I'll be able to do more with this story.

**Harry Potter and the Next Great Adventure**

Chapter Three: Missing Artifacts

Harry blinked a few seconds after reading the red note on his desk. An urgent memo, one of an utterly confidential nature, wasn't something that he'd received since Lucius Malfoy had attempted to sneak back into England and destroy the manor the Ministry had seized after his trial _in absentia_ had concluded when he'd left the country following the Battle of Hogwarts. _I need to see what this is about, NOW,_ he thought as he hurried out of the office, only pausing for a moment to grab his wand.

As he entered the lift, he muttered "Department of Mysteries." A few moments later, he had been whisked away to the land of Unspeakables, a land that currently looked much like a kicked-over ant hill.

"Harry, you're here," Senior Auror Weasley said as he let out a sigh of relief. After the Battle of Hogwarts, Percy had requested a move from the Department of International Magical Cooperation to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and had risen in the ranks even faster than Harry.

"What's the situation, Perce?" Harry had never seen Unspeakables _run_ before, let alone so many. Normally, it'd be a rather amusing sight, but given Percy's grave look, he knew it wasn't without damn good reason.

"You've been to the Veil Chamber before, yes?" Percy asked, quickly getting to the matter at hand.

"Yeah, when the Dark Bastard nearly tricked me into getting the prophecy for him and where Sirius died." No, Harry didn't have any fond memories of the place, other than giving Bella a small taste of the pain she'd inflicted on Neville's parents.

"Normally, problems here are handled by the Unspeakables, but they've called the DMLE in because..." Percy paused, something clearly disturbing him. "Harry, you really need to see it for yourself, follow me."

Harry and Percy walked, at a pace bordering on a brisk jog, through the confusing series of doors that led to the Veil Chamber. How the Unspeakables managed to navigate this labyrinth was _still_ beyond him, but such was the way of the Department of Mysteries, it seemed. When, at last, he entered the Veil Chamber, Harry was almost certain his heart would stop.

The Veil was _gone._

"Wha..." Harry began, at an almost complete loss for words. "What the _hell_ happened here, Percy?"

"We don't know, we're supposed to be briefed by an Unspeakable on the subject, but..." Percy paused for a moment, visibly attempting to gather himself. "The Veil looks like it has been simply...scooped up and taken away. There's no signs of _how_ it was done, the Anti-Apparition wards in the area are undisturbed. This shouldn't be _possible._"

As if following unheard cues, Kingsley Shacklebolt appeared next to them and cleared his throat. "Ahem, Aurors Potter and Weasley, I need to speak with you immediately. We've secured Courtroom Ten for a private meeting to discuss what's happened."

They walked swiftly from the Veil Chamber down the atrium that led to Courtroom Ten. Harry had once been tried here when he'd saved his and his cousin's souls from demetors that the toad, Umbridge, had sicced on them. As they entered the room, it had changed noticeably: instead of the courtroom he'd remembered, the single chair in the centre had been replaced by a small, round table with give chairs, two of which were already occupied.

Two Unspeakables, one in a gold-trimmed version of the normal Unspeakable robes, were comparing notes as Minister Shacklebolt, Harry, and Percy found their seats. As they finished revising, the commander of the two cleared her throat and began to address the small gathering.

"Gentlemen, we have a very serious situation." Her face took on an even more grave expression. "As of one minute past midnight today, the Veil is no longer within the Ministry of Magic."

Getting the obvious out of the way, Percy leaned slightly forward, his chin resting on his hands, and asked, "Ignoring the obvious theft of Ministry property, why would someone want to steal an artifact whose purpose is completely unknown?"

The other Unspeakable then spoke up, in a matter-of-fact tone, "The Veil isn't a normal magical artifact, but that much should be obvious even to _you_. To understand the full extent of the theft, you must be briefed on the nature of some of our operations."

The commander then spoke, "It should go without saying that what we say in this room will _never_ leave this room. You are to speak of this to _no one_ except the people currently in this room. Not your commanding officers, no girlfriends, no wives, no friends, not even Merlin himself is allowed to know about _any_ of that, is that understood?"

The three men there nodded in agreement and the male Unspeakable began his explanation.

"You all are more than familiar with the normal three classes of artifacts: muggle, or non-magical, artifacts, magical artifacts, and dark artifacts." He paused to note the looks of recognition on the faces of the three men before him. "However, my colleagues and I study, amongst other magical mysteries, two other forms of magical artifacts: fey artifacts and eldritch artifacts."

Harry's head went up slightly, he'd never heard of these kinds of artifacts before, but that was no surprise; the Department of Mysteries reported only to those within its own department and to the Minister himself.

As if sensing the question forming in Harry's mouth, the male Unspeakable continued, "These artifacts are of a … different magical nature than what's created by the hands of wizards and witches. First off, they are much, much older than anything else we've been able to study. The second thing of note about them is their power: they are _far_ more powerful than normal magical artifacts, capable of bending the known rules of magic, and even reality."

It was now the turn for the female Unspeakable to continue where her partner had left off, "Fey artifacts are ancient items of immense magical power. Typically, they are noted to bend or even outright change, albeit temporarily, the laws of nature, but their magical auras are merely different from our own, and such artifacts are often capricious and temperamental. Duplicating them is incredibly difficult, but not impossible. Time turners, for example, are based off an ancient fey artifact the Ministry discovered nearly two centuries ago."

Her face took on a darker look as she went into the next part of her explanation, and her voice took on an even more gravely serious tone. "Eldritch artifacts, however, are more akin to dark artifacts. Their auras are sinister and completely alien in nature. This makes them very, very difficult to study and impossible to duplicate. They are older than even fey artifacts, and they almost always exude an aura of..._wrongness_ about them. The power behind them is incomprehensibly _vast_ and etheric dating on some of the older relics see them being created long before the sun had flared into existence. The Veil...is an eldritch artifact, and one we barely understand."

"What we do know," the male Unspeakable began. "Is that it goes..._somewhere_, and that once every 50 years, it enters a period of instability for a week. Its power fluctuates and magic in the Veil Chamber simply refuses to work. The last such change occurred two months before Dumbledore battled Voldemort in the Ministry atrium."

"Wait..." Harry began, completely confused now. "I thought the Veil killed people. Before I killed Voldemort, I saw the shade of my godfather who'd fallen through the Veil."

The female Unspeakable looked Harry directly in the eyes. "That is because you used the Resurrection Stone." She held her hand up as Harry sputtered; he'd not told anyone he'd had, let alone _used_, any of Death's own Hallows. "We know, it is our job to know. We do not want your Cloak. We already understand how the Resurrection Stone and Elder Wand work, and we have more important things to do than to take a family heirloom from you. The Resurrection Stone does not summon a person's shade, it merely creates the _illusion_ of doing so; being a fey artifact, it can gather the personalities of people that died in the past, or that the user _thinks_ died, and present them to the user."

"So Sirius could be _alive?!"_ Harry asked, completely astonished by the news.

"Maybe. According to you, he fell through the Veil after it'd changed, so _wherever_ it goes to currently, he might well be there and simply unable to come back," the female Unspeakable said, not wanting to give the young man any false hopes.

"So," Minister Shacklebolt said after clearing his throat. "We have a missing artifact of unknown origin and immense power. Are there any leads as to _who_ might be responsible for this?"

"As of yet, no," the female Unspeakable said, a thoughtful frown appearing on her face. "However, we do know that we're not looking for one person, we're looking for an _organization_. The Veil required a team of two dozen of the Ministry's finest to move when we acquired it nearly four hundred years ago. It'd take power at _least_ equal to that to not only _move_ the thing, but to do so in a way that doesn't interact with our wards. This means that the individuals behind this, or at least one of them, has knowledge of some form of eldritch sorcery. Where the person, or persons, in question could've learned this is beyond me, but that they _did_ learn it is one of the only logical ways we can explain how the event took place to begin with."

"Great," Percy sighed as he digested all this. "So not _only_ do we have to deal with a group obviously interested in powerful artifacts that have existed since before humans themselves evolved, but they likely have knowledge of a branch of magic with which we have no experience."

"And one with knowledge of the Ministry's defenses," Harry added. "My guess, probably a former Unspeakable. What do you lot think?"

As Minister Shacklebolt frowned, he spoke, "That seems likely. They're the only ones with knowledge of the Veil, aside from the three of us now, and what it is."

"I'll compile a list of known Unspeakables who have either resigned or been dismissed," the female Unspeakable stated in a firm voice.

"However," Minister Shacklebolt added as an important detail hit him. "Aren't Unspeakables forced to commit their memories to the Hall of Records and be obliviated when they either resign or are dismissed?"

The female Unspeakable nodded. "Yes. However, it is possible that one of them might have had their memories restored. We take pride in our wandwork, but memory charms are fickle things, and one of us might have forgotten to cross a 't' or dot an 'I' during their work. If that's so, then we're also going to be dealing with at least one highly unstable individual; reversing a powerful, far-reaching memory charm is almost always damaging to one's mental health."

"Wonderful," Harry added flatly. "So we're potentially dealing with a nutcase of a former Unspeakable with followers and potential access to magic we, ourselves, barely understand. I doubt they're going to be throwing an interdimensional tea party with their new 'portal to somewhere we don't know that could, for all we know, be filled with abominations we can scarcely comprehend.' Am I the only one here who has a _really_ bad feeling about all of this?"

"In as many words, yes." the male Unspeakable stated in a slightly irate tone. "We need to find out who took the Veil as quickly as possible. As Auror Potter pointed out, these people are a threat and should be treated as such _when_ we find out who they are and take them down."

"Indeed," Minister Shacklebolt said. "If that is all, then I believe we should all go our separate ways to unravel this mess."

"If any of you, or us, have anything to report, we'll be in touch," said the female Unspeakable as she stood up with the rest of them.

As Harry left the room, a pall of dread fell over him. An old, familiar feeling was coming to the forefront of his mind. _We've got another powerful lunatic on the loose._ He thought, making his way to his office to handle the other business to which he'd been attending. _Hopefully, we'll put an end to this crazy bastard before he can do any real damage_.

**Author's Notes:**

Its finally here! Yes, the main plot is finally getting underway; the pieces are in place, the players ready, and the stage is set. Before you ask, yes, I am drawing a good bit of inspiration from Lovecraft's works with the Veil and the nature of other eldritch artifacts, that's why the "horror" tag is there.

To answer other questions that might pop up: Sirius _may_ be alive, but he might also _not_ be alive. The destination of the Veil is a total unknown so, for all we know, he could've ended up in Eberron or in the frozen wastelands of Hoth.

Also, the way I see it, an artifact, no matter _how_ powerful, would be hard-pressed to rip a spirit from the afterworld, even one of fey power like the Resurrection Stone. The shades Harry saw during his first fight with Voldemort during Goblet of Fire were echoes of Voldemort's victims, not their actual spirits; they possessed an inkling of the personality of those people the wand had killed, but their actual spirits were still living it up in the afterlife. After all, if you could tear a spirit out of the afterworld, what's to stop a skilled wizard from putting that spirit into a living, but soulless body? Resurrection is supposed to be impossible, and here, the dead are _staying_ dead.


End file.
